


Promised

by redseeker



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Soul Bond, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redseeker/pseuds/redseeker
Summary: Starscream must enter into a sparkbond with foreign warlord Megatron as part of a political alliance between Vos and Kaon.





	Promised

“You will marry the warlord and that is final.”

Starscream bared his teeth and snarled. He grabbed a crystal globe off the Winglord’s desk and threw it down on the floor, and felt satisfaction at the resulting crash. Fragments of crystal flew everywhere. Starscream’s creator, the Winglord himself, only watched his progeny with long-suffering disapproval. He was used to Starscream’s tantrums, and hadn’t reacted to one in many a stellar cycle.

“Are you quite finished?”

“No I am not finished!” Starscream raged. It was a futile battle, perhaps, but that wasn’t any reason to give up. He would have his feelings heard, even if all it did was afford him a modicum of satisfaction. Primus knew satisfaction would be in short supply once he was bonded to that dusty old antique. Megatron of Tarn. The scourge of Cybertron, if the news reports were to be believed—the terror of Iacon, the most evil mech ever to walk the planet. And all sorts of other such garbage. All Starscream knew or cared was that he was more than twice Starscream’s age and looked like a humourless old bag of bolts.

They had tried to sell it to him as an honour—Megatron was a leader of mechs, a very powerful bot with a promising future—and then when that hadn’t worked, as a duty. As if Starscream had ever given a slag about _duty_. Ultimately the Winglord and the Elders had resorted to simple threats. Starscream would be shipped off to Kaon to be Megatron’s bondmate or he would be disowned, stripped of his eligibility for the throne, and forbidden from taking his place in the Vosian court. He would be made a laughingstock and a pauper, and everybot knew Starscream’s pride would force him to leave Vos altogether rather than live under those humiliating conditions.

It was exile whether he complied or not.

Starscream would choose the less publicly embarrassing option, and the Winglord knew it, but Starscream got a spiteful enjoyment out of putting up a fight anyway.

“How dare you sell me off to this _stranger_?” he shouted. “I haven’t even met him! Why, everybot says he’s a brute. Who’s to say I won’t wake up after my wedding night murdered?”

“You need not be afraid for your safety. You will be taking a full contingent of guardsmechs with you, as well as your personal staff.” The Winglord took a moment to rearrange some small items on his desk while Starscream fumed. “Besides, it would be against his best interests to harm you. Our treaty is, naturally, contingent on your continued well-being. If Megatron of Tarn causes you undue harm or, Allspark forbid, death, the treaty will be void and, more to the point, Vos will have to declare war on Kaon and the Decepticons. Megatron is already fighting the Prime and his Autobots. He can’t afford to fight a war on two fronts.”

“How can you be so cold?” Starscream said. “My own loving creator. Why, I can hear the regret in your vocals. You’re simply torn to pieces over _selling_ your beloved offspring to a strange mech.”

“Starscream, mark my words. If Megatron disrespects you, he disrespects all of Vos.”

“And will he be fucking all of Vos as well?”

“You know I’ve always disliked your crude language,” the Winglord said with a little moue of distaste.

“And I’ve always disliked being sold like chattel. How dare you talk about _respect_ -”

“You were given a choice,” the Winglord cut him off. Then, in a clipped tone that brooked no further argument, he said, “Megatron and his retinue arrive in three solar cycles’ time. Get all of this out of your system before then. When he gets here, you will be representing Vos, and the future of your homeland may depend upon your making a good impression.”

“If you wanted a good impression you should have picked another of the princes to marry off.”

The Winglord didn’t answer. Starscream knew why, and despite his flippant, disdainful manner it still twisted up his spark. Starscream was the one who drew the short straw because Starscream was the disgrace of Vos. The Elders would be happy to be rid of him, and this was just the first opportunity that came along. Well, they would see the error of their ways when this treaty went south, wouldn’t they? He had toyed with the idea of sabotaging it deliberately. He could make an extra effort to be completely unbearable during his first meeting with his intended, and the mighty Megatron would flee back to his fortress, breaking the engagement and the treaty both.

And plunging their nations into war.

He turned on his heel and strode out of his creator’s office. He kept his head and his wings high, the better to combat the sour feeling of humiliation that was making his spark crawl.

He was a son of Vos, scion of one of the most ancient houses in the kingdom. They shouldn’t be allowed to treat him like this. But they’d be sorry. The Elders, the Winglord, even the foreign warlord who had agreed to this barbaric arrangement—they would all be sorry when, inevitably, Starscream proved unsuitable. Even if he didn’t try to sabotage things, even if he kept his head down and did everything he was supposed to do, it was still all doomed from the start. He was the unworthy prince, the shame of Vos, and it was only a matter of time before Megatron found that out. It gave him a little kernel of satisfaction, and that was enough to keep him moving all the way back to his tower. The treaty would go down in flames one way or another, and then and everyone involved in setting it up would regret ever treating Starscream so poorly.

 

* * *

 

Starscream was roused from his apocalyptic musings—on the destruction of his homeland and ruin and despair spreading across Cybertron as a consequence—by his wing-brother elbowing him none-too-gently in the side. He glared at Skywarp, but Skywarp wasn’t even looking at him. He was staring out the tower window, and in fact just as Starscream was about to complain at him, he stuck his head out and cried, “He’s here!”

“What in the unending Pit are you blathering about?”

“He’s here, Star! Look.”

Starscream suddenly felt sick. He had spent the last three days oscillating between indignant rage and frantic anxiety, hoping that when the warlord did arrive he would be past all of that and have arrived at serene acceptance of his duty.

He should have known better.

He shoved Skywarp out of the way.

“Let me see!”

“Don’t shove.”

“There’s enough room for us all to see,” said Thundercracker, coming up on Starscream’s other side. “There he is.”

“I can’t see him.”

“Well, he’s inside the transport.”

Starscream watched the hovercraft swoop in to land at the main landing pad outside the palace, out of view.

There was no fanfare to herald the warlord’s arrival. That would begin the next day, at the actual bonding ceremony. Then the towers would light up, the streets would be filled with confetti, and all the citizens of Vos would turn out to see the spectacle, all sparkling like so many brightly coloured jewels. There would be feasting for days, music, dancing, the whole works. If there was one thing Vosians knew how to do it was throw a party.

Initially the Elders had planned to marry Starscream to Megatron with a proxy wedding, having assumed the warlord would be too busy to take time away from his campaign against Iacon, but to everyone’s surprise Megatron had insisted on a full Vosian ceremony which he would attend in person. From what Starscream understood, bondings in Kaon were minimalist affairs, sometimes foregoing the ceremony altogether in favour of a simple private merging of sparks. He supposed the end result was the same either way, but in Vos the custom was to make it a special occasion. Many bots grew up dreaming about their perfect bonding day. Starscream was not among them, having never intended to shackle his spark to another at all, but the idea of simply sneaking away without fanfare appalled him. It would be so drab, so depressing. It would be like they were doing something shameful, something that ought to be hidden.

He didn’t think Megatron had insisted out of a love of parties. Megatron had brought not just one transport but a whole convoy. Some of those transports would contain gifts for Starscream and his family, staff to attend to Megatron and his guards, but Starscream suspected a large portion of them were filled with Decepticon soldiers.

An invasion force, he thought. Not just a show of strength, but an implicit threat. Starscream gulped. The pressure to make this situation work suddenly became a lot more real.

“Shouldn’t you be there to meet him?” Thundercracker asked.

Starscream wrinkled his nose and said, “Why should I? I don’t want to look too eager.”

“It’s a little late to play hard to get,” Skywarp sniggered. “You’re already promised.”

“Pssh. I’ll see him soon enough.”

“Somebot’s nervous to see his betrothed,” Skywarp teased.

“I am not!”

“Shh, go easy, Warp. Like he said, he’ll see him soon enough. The ceremony is tomorrow afternoon, and then after that he'll have to spend the rest of his life with him.”

The reminder that Starscream would soon—so soon, how did it creep up so quickly?—be gone to another city on the other side of the world sobered the exuberant seeker. Skywarp awkwardly put a hand on Starscream’s shoulder. Starscream thought this was almost worse than making crass jokes about lying back and thinking of Vos. “Come on, Star,” Skywarp said. “It won’t be all that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. It’s not happening to you.”

“But you’ll come back and see us, right, Star? He can’t keep you locked up in a tower or some slag… right?”

“Who knows? He’s not exactly known for being charitable and kind, is he? Quite the opposite.” Starscream rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m being married off to a horrendous barbarian. I was supposed to be Winglord!”

Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged glances. They had been trying to keep their wing-brother’s spirits up, but underneath all of Starscream’s histrionics his fear and distress were all too real, and there was nothing they could do about it.

A moment later, Starscream mastered his emotions and took a deep breath.

“I’m going out for a flight,” he announced. “And you’re both coming with me.”

 

* * *

 

The warlord would be given quarters in the royal palace for the duration of his stay, and afforded every courtesy as an honoured guest of the Winglord. Starscream passed the remainder of the day out in the skies, pushing himself to his limits with his wing-brothers. The strain on his systems, the cold of the air rushing past his wings, the dizzying heights all served to remind him of who he really was, of what he was, before he became a primped and useless trophy mate tucked away in some Kaonite fortress for safekeeping. He was a prince of Vos, he was a seeker, a son of the sky. He was Starscream.

The next morning dawned crisp and bright. Starscream rose early, and spent the morning locked in preparations for the ceremony. He was bathed, painted, waxed and polished. His frame, now even more gleamingly perfect than usual, was draped in a ceremonial mantle of royal purple, and his brow adorned with a golden crown. His wrists, fingers, and wings also dripped with gold and jewels by the time his attendants were finished. He took comfort in his reflection, confident that he would at least meet his fate looking like the future Winglord he truly was.

“Primus, Starscream,” Thundercracker remarked when he saw Starscream’s grim expression. “You’re not going to your execution.”

“I might as well be,” Starscream said.

Thundercracker just shook his head.

“You know,” said Skywarp from where he sprawled on the couch on the other side of the room. Both Starscream’s brothers were dressed up to a lesser degree, and had a part to play in the ceremony. “He’s not bad looking in person, all considered.”

Starscream rounded on his brother, his jewellery chinking as he moved. “What? How would you know?”

“There was a dinner last night to welcome our new allies to the city, which you didn’t attend,” Thundercracker said. “Remember?”

“You were too busy sulking in your room,” Skywarp supplied.

“Yes, yes.” It had been an incredible breach of etiquette, but Starscream had refused to meet Megatron until the absolute last moment possible. Therefore, the first time he would meet his intended face to face would be that afternoon, at the ceremony itself.

“I’m just saying,” Skywarp said with a shrug. “He’s not bad. You know, for a barbarian.”

“That’s not saying much.”

Skywarp only shrugged and smirked. “I’m _just_ _saying_ , it might not be so bad as you think. Being bonded to that, I mean. And the bonding night.” He grinned and waggled his optical ridges, and Starscream looked around for something to throw at him. Skywarp was lucky Starscream had disconnected his weapons for the bonding.

“I don’t want to hear another word about it,” he said. “Not a word!”

He turned back to the mirror, and while he inspected his appearance one more time, his brothers exchanged a look behind his back. Skywarp smirked, and Thundercracker shook his head.

 

* * *

 

The ceremony was held in the grand cathedral. It was a marvel of Vosian architecture, sporting a massive domed roof of glittering crystal and gold, the walls embedded with mosaics in brightly coloured gemstones. All the highest echelons of Vosian society were represented in the huge circular chamber, and the streets and perches for miles around outside were clogged with everyone else in the city who wanted to witness the historic royal wedding of Prince Starscream to the fearsome foreign warlord Megatron. There was also a contingent of Decepticon officers present, all looking thrillingly dangerous and enticingly alien with their heavy frames and dark, metallic paint-jobs.

Starscream met his mate-to-be for the first time at the dais in the centre of the cathedral, beneath the stained-glass Vosian starburst and surrounded by thousands of people.

Starscream had known what he looked like. He had seen the holoscans, the pictures, watched the newsfeeds. And true, he had harboured a bit of a fascination for the tall, powerful mech who commanded armies with a word, who looked poised to forge a whole new era for Cybertron with his will alone. He knew he was a charismatic speaker and a respected leader, and he knew his military acumen made him the terror of the Autobot Commonwealth. He was not only a tactical genius, but he led from the front, displaying a courage that many leaders lacked.

But even knowing all that, even having watched all those feeds and read every story he could get his hands on about him, none of that measured up to meeting him in person. Here he was, face to face at last, with the infamous mech himself.

He was, somehow, even more handsome in person. Starscream wasn’t an especially small mech, but Megatron towered over him, and he seemed almost as broad in the shoulders as he was tall. He was massive, a powerfully built labour model turned warrior. His plating had been polished up for the occasion, but still sported some scratches and scars that were too deep or too old to buff out, evidence of a life lived in hardship and struggle. For all of his rough edges, his face was surprisingly finely drawn. He had a sensual mouth, strong nose, and piercing red optics. Starscream felt his own face-plates heating up under the warlord’s considering gaze. He wondered if he matched up to the holoscans Megatron would have been sent—and then he remembered he didn’t care. He was marrying Megatron for Vos, for the alliance, not because he was interested in a romantic relationship. It didn’t matter whether Megatron found him attractive or not—although of course he would be an imbecile not to. He tossed his head and gave Megatron his best withering glare. Megatron’s optics glinted, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smirk. Outraged, Starscream hiked his wings up, puffed up his chest.

But there was no time to retaliate, or even to speak at all, because the priestess was addressing the congregation and the ceremony was starting. Suddenly Starscream felt like he was in freefall, things were rushing toward and past him far too fast and his engines were failing, and there was nothing he could do about it but watch it happen. From that moment all there was to do was follow the steps laid out for him. Go here, say this, clasp hands like so—his hand looked so small in Megatron’s and he hated it, hated to feel weak and small—until before he knew it the ceremony was almost over and all that remained was to-

“Kiss?” he squawked, and then clapped his free hand over his mouth, appalled that he had said that out loud. The priestess smiled gently, nodded. Starscream switched his attention to Megatron. His expression was inscrutable. Starscream glared daggers at him as he leaned closer, tipped Starscream’s chin up with one knuckle, and then brushed his lips against Starscream’s.

It was over in an instant.

It hadn’t been… that bad. It had been too brief to tell one way or the other.

After the ceremony in the cathedral, there was a feast at the palace. The whole city would enjoy a holiday, and there would be banqueting and dancing in the streets and in the skies for miles around. The celebrations would continue for several days more, but Starscream and Megatron were already bonded now in the eyes of the law. All that remained was the act itself, the merging of their sparks. Starscream felt sick if he thought about that too long. It was too intimate, too awful to contemplate doing it with a stranger, or with anyone at all. But he would have to. He couldn’t flee his duty without consequences, and more importantly, he couldn’t lose face.

Starscream sat at the high table with Megatron at his side. While music played and all the elite of Vos dined, Starscream had his first real opportunity to exchange words with his new mate. Toying with his fuel, he risked a sidelong look at Megatron. Megatron had a goblet of finely aged oil in his hand and was watching the celebration. He didn’t try to engage Starscream in conversation, and Starscream took that as both extremely rude and as a sign of his lack of interest. Of course Megatron was only interested in the riches Vos had to offer, all the more credits to fund his war, or revolution, or whatever he wanted to call it. Scowling, Starscream stabbed a crystallised cube of energon with his fork.

“Are you quite all right?”

At first Starscream didn’t realise that honeyed voice was addressing him. He turned to look at Megatron in shock.

“Oh, so you deign to speak to me at last,” he sneered.

Megatron watched him for a moment, and then said, “There didn’t seem to be an opportunity until now. You have made yourself notably hard to reach. I sent you messages.”

Starscream sniffed and looked down at his food. “I didn’t read them.”

“I had hoped to get to know my intended somewhat before binding our sparks together for all eternity.”

“What difference does it make?” Starscream said with a surly shrug. He knew his manners were far from royal just now, but he didn’t care. If Megatron wanted a prim, perfect prince he should have picked one of Starscream’s brothers or cousins. Vosians tended towards large families, so Primus knew he had enough of them to spare.

“None,” Megatron said, earning another indignant look from Starscream. He sipped his oil. “How would you feel about a dance?”

“Vosians do their best dancing in the air.”

“Yes, there’s to be a performance later, I know. But why don’t I show you how we dance in Kaon?”

Starscream curled his lip. “I don’t think anything you have to teach could possibly interest me.”

“You might be surprised,” Megatron said, with a twinkle in his optics. Starscream huffed. “You don’t seem as concerned as your countrymechs to welcome me and my Decepticons. Aren’t you worried about the treaty?”

“Why would I be?”

“You’re aware the Autobots will happily wipe Vos from the map if it means getting their servos on the rich ores here alone?”

“And the Decepticons wouldn’t?”

“I prefer more civilised methods. Such as the arrangement we have now. Vos is a beautiful city with a rich culture, I see no reason to destroy it when we could have a much more prosperous and promising future working together instead.”

Starscream stuck a piece of the crystallised energon in his mouth and chewed aggressively. “You’re no better than the Prime. Both of you want to strip Vos of everything of worth, the only difference is you expect us to grovel at your feet for the privilege. You don’t want to destroy the beauty of Vos, but you’re quite happy to claim it for yourself.”

“Are you talking about the city or yourself?”

Starscream flushed. “Does it matter? You wanted a Vosian prince for a whore and now you’ve got one.”

Megatron was silent for a moment. Starscream was too fuming mad to look at him, so he kept his optics on his plate as he hacked up energon cubes with the same ferocity with which he’d like to hack into Megatron’s stupid face.

After a while, Megatron said quietly, “You didn’t enter into this arrangement of your own will, then?”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know,” Starscream said acidly. “I’ve heard tales of your spymaster, so playing ignorant just makes you look foolish.”

“I had not intended to take an unwilling bride. This is a union that stands to benefit us both, after all. An alliance with Vos helps me, yes, but as the consort of the Lord of the Decepticons you will enjoy a vast amount of power and influence. Would you like a city of your own? I can conquer one for you.”

Starscream wasn’t sure if he was being serious or making fun of him. He studied him, unsure quite how to take it. “I want Vos,” he said.

“Then you shall have it.” Megatron took another sip of his oil and smiled. “You’re already son of the current Winglord. With a Decepticon army at your command...” He gave a little shrug. “Who would oppose you?”

“You would...” Starscream bit his glossa. He didn’t want charity from this foreign barbarian. And who was Megatron, really? He wasn’t royalty, he wasn’t even of the elite caste. He was just some jumped-up labourer with delusions of grandeur. Under normal circumstances Megatron wouldn’t even be allowed to speak to Starscream, he was that far beneath him; expecting Starscream to bond him was an insult of astronomical proportions and Starscream didn’t understand how nobody else seemed to see that. Megatron shouldn’t be anything but dirt under Starscream’s elegantly polished heel. No. No, if he was to be Winglord it would be on his own terms, won by his own merits, and not with any help from a self-styled revolutionary who didn’t know his own place.

“Come.”

“What? What are you doing? Let go of me.”

“You’re going to dance with me.”

Starscream opened his mouth to inform Megatron once again that he had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but Megatron had already risen and grasped Starscream’s hand, and Starscream found himself pulled toward the dance-floor. He had to trot to keep up and avoid looking like his new mate was dragging him around—which he was. The dancers on the floor cleared a space, and at Megatron’s gesture the musicians struck up a lively tune. Megatron didn’t release Starscream’s hand, and to the seeker’s shock actually pulled him closer and clamped his other hand firmly on his slender waist. Starscream’s cheeks flamed pink. He had never been so mortified. Megatron was going to embarrass them both and everyone was watching.

“A traditional dance of Kaon,” Megatron said.

“I thought you were from Tarn.”

“Kaon is my adopted home. Just follow where I lead.”

“Why are you the one who gets to lead?”

“Because I’m the one who knows the steps,” Megatron said with a smile.

Vosian dances, those rare few that took place on the ground and not in the air, were modelled around the steps of a skydance. The dancers wheeled and spun around each other in movements that mimicked the intricate loops of jets in flight. There was a subtle eroticism in the fleeting brush of fingertips or locking of gazes, but there was no such blatant body contact as in the dance Megatron pulled Starscream into now, nothing as brazen even as joined hands. This was less like a skydance and more like mating in mid-air. Megatron directed him here and there, spun him around and dipped him low, and all Starscream could do was concentrate on not losing his footing. A less agile mech would have tripped, but Starscream refused to permit such a humiliation. For the finale, Megatron gripped Starscream’s waist with both hands and lifted him up as he spun. Starscream flared out his wings for a pretty effect, and when Megatron set Starscream back on his feet the bots around them erupted into applause.

He had felt sure they would laugh at him. Instead, Megatron had probably started the next big trend. Starscream could see it now—Kaonite dancing, so exotic, so risqué!

Megatron grinned at him, and tugged him close. Before Starscream could voice his displeasure, Megatron dipped him once again and stopped his mouth with a kiss. More applause, more cheers. Vosians loved romance.

“I had no idea you were such a showmech,” Starscream said when Megatron let him stand up again.

“It’s a necessary part of the job,” Megatron replied. “If you want bots to follow you, you need to learn how to play to a crowd.”

“Now you’re telling me all your secrets.”

“Not all of them, but we’ve only just met. We have eternity yet.”

“Don’t remind me.” He made to turn away and return to the high table, but Megatron grabbed him again. “If you keep doing that I’ll take your hand,” he snarled.

“You already have my hand, remember? Join me in another dance. The night is still young.”

Starscream narrowed his optics. “ _I_ lead this time. This time we dance a Vosian dance.”

“Very well.”

This time they joined in with the other dancers. Starscream had hoped to see Megatron stumble over unfamiliar steps, but he moved as though he had been built with Vosian dances pre-programmed into his mainframe.

As the night wore on, Starscream wore down his thrusters dancing for joors. They changed partners several times, and then, when it was fully dark and the night was illuminated by streamers of green and red light before the backdrop of stars, the party moved outside and Starscream took to the air with his wing-brothers to perform an elaborate, traditional skydance. He finished the evening with a skydance with his creator, the Winglord himself, as a traditional send-off before Starscream left his home nest to join that of his new mate.

“That was beautiful,” Megatron told him when he was finished. Starscream said nothing. Now that the time he’d been dreading was finally here, he didn’t have anything left to say. The party would continue for hours yet, and pick up again in the morning, but for Starscream and Megatron, it was time to retreat to private chambers and complete the final step of their joining. A heavy weight had settled in the pit of his fuel tank, and he felt cold all over. He stared at Megatron with his jaw clenched and his posture rigid; he was determined not to show fear.

Winglord Coriolis was making some speech, but it all sounded like static to Starscream’s audios. The crowd around him blurred, and he focused all his energy on maintaining his outward appearance of nonchalance. Megatron, it turned out, was not so easily fooled. Starscream startled when Megatron took his hand. He gave him a questioning look, but Megatron wasn’t even looking his way.

Starscream made the walk up to his chambers in a numb daze. His rooms had been done up for the occasion, decorated with colourful swags of exotic fabrics and vases of scented crystal blooms. His berth was draped with gossamer curtains, and the lights were turned down low. The party-goers, most of whom were heartily overcharged by this point, escorted the newlyweds to the bridal chamber in a raucous chorus of laughter, shouts, and song. Megatron exchanged some words with one of his lieutenants before entering Starscream’s rooms, and then he ushered Starscream inside and the door slid shut behind them. Starscream was alone with Megatron for the first time. He made himself cycle his intakes deeply and evenly as he waited for the barbarian warlord to grab him. He could do this. He would do this. He would show everyone who thought he couldn’t!

“In Tarn we would have witnesses.”

“...What?”

“The custom in Tarn is for the consummation of a sparkbond to be witnessed, as proof it happened. It is an… old custom.”

“Well here in civilised lands we simply scan the sparks the next morning.”

“Yes. I imagine the tradition stems from earlier times, before we had such instruments available,” Megatron said. “This is a lovely space you have here. May I?” He had crossed to the balcony doors, and at Starscream’s baffled nod he opened them and stepped out onto the balcony. Starscream’s rooms, high in one of the palace’s many towers, had an excellent view of Vos and the star-studded, aurora-painted sky above it. Outside, it was pleasantly cold. Starscream followed Megatron out and drew in a deep intake of crisp night air. He hadn’t realised until then just how stuffy the palace had become.

“Beautiful.” Starscream thought Megatron was talking about the view, but the little flicker of a smirk when his optics scanned over Starscream got his hackles up. “Vos really is the jewel of Cybertron.”

“That’s why you wanted it,” Starscream said tartly. He leant on the balcony railing. He had leapt from this balcony many a time, taking to wing in so many impromptu flights. The whole of the sky was his home, his to explore and dominate at will. He was the master of the firmament, free as the wind itself! No longer. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’d rather just get this over and done with.”

“And you’ve gone to so much trouble to make a romantic setting.”

“ _I_ didn’t do that.”

“I don’t see any reason to rush things,” said Megatron. “We have joors and joors until morning. Why don’t we get to know each other a little better?”

“We’ll be baring our sparks soon enough, how much better do you need to know me?”

“Do you always make things this difficult?”

“Most of the time, yes.” He folded his arms. “Listen, you don’t need to waste your time trying to romance me. This is a political union, nothing more, let’s not dress it up as anything else. Besides, I know you only agreed to bond with me because none of the other princes were available.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not a fool.”

“So you say.” Megatron mirrored Starscream’s posture, leaning against the opposite railing and folding his arms across his broad chest. He ignored Starscream’s spluttering, and said, “I had my pick of all the eligible princes, and I chose you.”

“I don’t believe you. Why would you? Explain yourself.”

Megatron gave a tight little smile. “Don’t think I wasn’t aware of what your devious creator and his council of elders were up to. Oh, they thought they were being so clever. I enquired about a couple of others first, even though you’d caught my optic at once.”

“Why?”

Megatron gave a little shrug. “I wanted to see what they’d say. Unsurprisingly, the princes in question suddenly became a lot less eligible as soon as I expressed an interest in courting them. One was pronounced too young, and the other unexpectedly acquired a sparkmate he had, presumably, forgotten about. Very careless. Wouldn’t you like to go in and sit?”

“I like the fresh air.”

“Very well. Well, as I was saying, you caught my attention right away, and not just because the envoys I dealt with were pushing for you so hard. I thought there had to be some mistake.”

“Was there something wrong with me?”

“Quite the opposite. I couldn’t believe Coriolis would consider parting with you.” Starscream gave a derisive snort and looked away, but Megatron explained, “Think about it. By rights you ought to be next in line to be Winglord. There shouldn’t be any contest.”

“What would you know about that?”

“You looked into me before today, am I correct? Read the news feeds, found out everything you could? I did the same for you. I don’t like to go into any decision unprepared.”

“Then you know you’ve been short-changed.”

“I know that on paper you’re the obvious choice for Coriolis’s successor. You’re the fastest flyer in Vos, perhaps all of Cybertron. Your scores in the arena are outstanding, and your scientific and engineering work is still being taught at the royal academy. So why, I asked myself, would the Winglord risk marrying off his most likely successor, a bot he ought to be grooming to take his place and lead his people into the future, to the leader of a foreign power engaged in a war the outcome of which no-bot can be quite certain of? He wants this alliance to work, of course—with my Decepticons I can guarantee Vos’s protection from the growing Autobot threat—but I never expected to bond to the Winglord’s heir. So I looked into you more deeply. I found what wasn’t in the official feeds, and what Coriolis’s envoys didn’t want to tell me.”

“So you do know.”

“I know that you’re competitive, that you have few friends. I know that you gamble and drink and get into fights, and that the only reason you weren’t thrown out of the academy—where you had already proven yourself outstanding—was because of who your creator was. I know that the Elders don’t want to crown you Winglord in a billion years because you’re too unpredictable, too wilful. You were a delinquent as a youth, and as an adult you’re too much of a wildcard for anybot to bet on.”

“Don’t hold back,” Starscream said. His face-plates were hot and surely flushed bright pink, and his wings trembled in indignation. He wasn’t ashamed of himself, but it was still uncomfortable to have all his supposed flaws laid out before him so concisely, all the reasons why he was to be denied his birthright.

“You misunderstand me. Knowing these things about you, it only strengthened my resolution that you were the one I wanted.”

“Now you’re just talking slag. Or you’re mad. Which is it?”

“You’re strong-willed, you’re different. You don’t let any mech tell you who to be. And you’re fierce. I think you want more than life as a pampered aristocrat here can offer you. I think you hunger for bigger things. I think you crave adventure, conquest, greatness. Am I right?”

“Do you want a mate or a soldier?”

“I want both. I’m not interested in an ornament or a trophy. I want a partner who can stand by my side through everything that’s to come. I believe we could be great together. Tell me, Starscream, how would you feel about ruling all of Cybertron at my side?”

Starscream stared at him. “You _are_ mad,” he said softly. There was a pain in his chest, there was something wrong with his spark.

“Some say,” Megatron agreed. He stepped forward, advanced slowly. Starscream had nowhere to go unless he wanted to fly away, and he… didn’t. He gripped onto the railing behind him as Megatron closed the distance between them. “But tell me, Starscream of Vos, what do you say? Do you accept my offer? Will you be my partner, my queen, my sparkmate?”

“I…” Megatron was so close now. Gazing up at his face, Starscream was bathed in his shadow and lost in the burning light of his optics. “I… I already am.”

Megatron brought his lips to Starscream’s, and Starscream tilted his head to accept the kiss. Megatron’s hands came to the railing, his arms framing Starscream’s body. Around them the stars and the aurora glimmered, reflected in all the glittering splendour of Vos.

“Come,” Megatron murmured. “Let’s go inside.”

“No.” Starscream grabbed onto Megatron’s plating, dug his fingers into a seam to keep him where he was. “Here. Under the sky.”

Megatron nodded. His chest split down the middle and bright light shone out. Starscream gasped. He hadn’t expected the fearsome warlord to show weakness first, to bare his soul so readily. If Starscream had had any doubts Megatron was serious about his wishes or plans, they were dealt with now. He had tried his best to convince Megatron he had made a bad bargain, and had expected him to return to the Elders and demand they take Starscream back and give him a more suitable consort instead, but all his attempts had failed. It was too late for Megatron to back out now.

“Bare your spark to me, Starscream of Vos,” Megatron said, a faint smile upon his lips and his deep, gravelly voice so unexpectedly soft. Starscream had never thought to find gentleness in the mech feared and reviled across Cybertron as a brutal and ruthless killer. He steeled himself, fought the urge to shutter his optics, and opened up his cockpit. Megatron’s gaze dropped, and Starscream saw his face bathed in blue-white light. “Beautiful,” Megatron breathed.

Starscream suspected one spark looked rather like any other, and he was about to say as much when Megatron slid his arms around Starscream’s waist and pressed their chests together. Starscream felt the first lick of energy against his spark and gasped, and the next moment Megatron’s spark claimed his own completely. There was no more warning before Starscream was hurled into yet another freefall, this time through Megatron’s very soul. He panicked, tried to throw up his firewalls and keep out the invasion because while he was drowning in Megatron’s core, Megatron’s essence was enveloping and burrowing into his own. It wasn’t pleasant. His processor didn’t seem to know how to interpret the multitude of sensations and signals racing through his sensornet. There was a moment it felt as if Starscream’s every line, every circuit, was on fire, and he tried to flee the pain but he was anchored to it and there was no escape; the next moment the burning pain turned to sublime, soul-searing pleasure.

Spark merging was a dangerous process, and not usually undertaken more than once in a bot’s life. Sometimes an incompatibility between would-be mates could destabilise the merge, and as a result damage the sparks themselves. But, after the first jumbled alarm, Starscream’s HUD didn’t show any serious warnings, and instead never-before-used protocols were running just as they had been designed to do. Soon he didn’t even notice his own system’s alerts. He wasn’t aware of anything at all except Megatron. He was a stranger, and yet, through the bond, Starscream knew him as intimately as he knew himself. He understood him on a soul-deep level, he knew his drive and his ambitions, his secret desires and his private shames. Before, Starscream had found the idea of being known so closely appalling. Not even his wing-brothers could claim this level of understanding of all the intricacies of Starscream’s mind and spark, but Megatron claimed it all now, just as he claimed Starscream himself. The edges between them blurred more and more, until Starscream no longer knew where he ended and Megatron began; they were not two entities but one. It was frightening, he was losing himself, but he was also gaining something he could never have anticipated wanting—he knew, now, with absolute certainty, that this mech was meant for him. Primus had forged them as a matched set. The Elders hadn’t chosen wrong after all, proud fools that they were. They were meant to be together—and together, they would conquer worlds.

He felt weak and unsteady when at last they separated. He hardly felt like himself any more, his own frame felt strange, it felt too small. He pushed Megatron away and fell to his knees. Megatron didn’t look any steadier, but he leant on the railing and offered his other hand to help Starscream up. Starscream stood on his own and took stock, ran a quick set of scans on himself. His spark showed him some unusual readings he was sure the doctor could explain in the morning. He couldn’t deal with it now. The merge had taken a lot out of him, and his energy levels were flashing dangerously low. All he wanted to do was recharge.

“I can still feel you,” he said, bringing a hand to his cockpit.

“Yes. We’re connected now,” said Megatron. He was looking at Starscream with wide, bright optics. “You’re magnificent.”

“I know. You’re the first bot to realise.”

That earned him a grin. Exhausted as he was, a wave of heat and interest spread instantly throughout his body, and his spark called out for its mate.

 _Later_ , he thought to it, _time for all that later._

“All the time in the world,” Megatron said. Starscream stared at him.

“Stay out of my head.”

“But it’s such a fascinating place.”

“I mean it!”

“Easy. It’s a new bond. My medics said it would take a while for us to establish equilibrium.”

“And boundaries.”

“And boundaries, yes. Now.” He closed his chest-plates, and Starscream mourned the loss of the sight of his glorious spark. He closed his own cockpit and dusted himself off, trying to look like less of a dishevelled mess. “Much as I’d like to frag you into the berth now, I am certain I would do a better job after a joor or two of recharge.”

“You don’t want to rejoin the party?”

“Do you?”

Starscream thought about it for all of a moment. Staying ensconced in his chamber with his new bondmate was the more appealing option. They would rest a while, recover from the merge, and then… And then, they could really get to know each other, the old-fashioned way. He held out his hand. “Vosian bonding celebrations last for days. We won’t miss anything if we stay here until morning.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” Megatron took Starscream’s outstretched hand, and then surprised him again by tugging him close and lifting him up and over his shoulder. Starscream squawked in protest, but Megatron only laughed and carried him back inside and flung him onto the berth.

 

* * *

 

Starscream stood on the ramparts of Kaon fortress, gazing out upon his new kingdom. Kaon was quite different from Vos. Where Vos was a city of the air, glittering towers reaching toward the firmament in celebration of the open and infinite skies, the fortified city of Kaon was rooted firmly in the earth. Hewn from black stone and metal and bordered by thick walls on all sides, Kaon was dominated by its factories and mines. The skies were clogged with red smoke, a by-product of the factories and smelters running non-stop. It was a harsh, unlovely city home to a harsh, unforgiving people. There was none of the elegance of Starscream’s homeland here. The chief pastime was gladiatorial matches fought in the many arenas scattered around the city. There were arenas in Vos, too, but in Vos matches were intended as displays of finesse, of technique and cunning; in Kaon the bloodthirsty crowd relished the grit and violence of mechs earnestly trying to kill each other. Kaonites were truly barbarians by Vosian standards, and Megatron’s officers viewed Starscream and his princely airs with suspicion. Starscream had never had many friends to begin with, so he wasn’t unduly concerned by this. He would work on them, and in time he would command their loyalty as well as Megatron himself. It had been difficult, leaving behind his entire life and relocating to a strange and unfriendly place. He missed the comforts of home, missed seeing familiar faces and features. Yet he had found things to love here too. He appreciated the rough, martial nature of the Kaonites, found an unlikely kinship with them—he had always been too hard for Vos, too sharp, and had spent his life forced to stifle that side of himself. Here he could explore it freely. He learned to fly above the smog that cloaked the city, to where violent storms frequently raged in the skies above, and to dance between the lightning bolts. He even thought he could grow to appreciate the stark beauty of the rugged landscape, the dramatic mountains and rivers of lava.

And, too, there was Megatron. They butted heads constantly, but that only meant that life was never boring. Neither of them wanted to rely on the sparkbond to smooth matters between them, preferring the excitement and the conflicts that came with doing things the hard way.

“Ah, I thought I might find you out here.” As if on cue, the warlord came up behind Starscream and wrapped his arms around his waist. Starscream leant back into his body.

“How was the war meeting?”

“Tedious as always. You would know if you actually attended.”

“I do sometimes. Your lieutenants hate me.”

“My lieutenants had better keep their opinions to themselves or I’ll have their heads.” He nuzzled the side of Starscream’s helm and kissed his audio. “There are reports of some unusual troop movements around Polyhex. The Prime is up to something.”

“He wouldn’t dare invade?”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him, but we can never be too sure about these foolhardy Autobots. I’m heading out in the morning to patrol the borders, visit the outposts, bolster the troops. If Prime makes a move I want to be ready.”

“You should strike first, don’t wait for the Autobots to attack.”

“If you want to have a say in Decepticon military strategy, you have to actually come to the meetings.” Starscream huffed, and behind him Megatron smiled. His hands roamed up and down Starscream’s cockpit. “Now tell me, why is my pretty bondmate brooding all alone up here? Still feeling homesick?”

“Actually, I have some news. Are you leaving right away tomorrow? We’ve not even been bonded half a stellar cycle and already you’re leaving me alone?”

“You’re welcome to come with me.”

“You’d risk your sparkmate’s life in a warzone?”

“I’m confident you can handle yourself.”

“But what about your sparkling?”

“My- What?” Starscream turned in Megatron’s arms. Megatron took a step back and stared at Starscream’s smug face. They hadn’t been bonded long, but they’d shared a berth every night since the ceremony. Megatron could hardly be shocked. His optics dropped to Starscream’s cockpit. “You’re carrying?”

“I haven’t had the doctor confirm it yet, but seekers are very sensitive to these things. I know it.”

“An heir,” Megatron breathed. He placed a hand on Starscream’s cockpit. Starscream had never seen such a soft light in his optics. “You’re carrying the heir to the Decepticons in your chamber.”

“And the future Winglord, once I reclaim my rightful throne. Or had you forgotten?” 

“I haven’t forgotten. You shall have your throne, and your crown, if you'll allow me to get it for you. You shall have anything you desire. I won’t go tomorrow, I’ll stay-”

“No,” Starscream said. “Go. Find out what the Autobots are up to, and annihilate them. Then come back home to me.”

Megatron’s optics glowed, pride radiating from every inch of him. He smiled, and then cupped Starscream’s face in his hands and kissed him. “I will, my beautiful savage,” he said. “And I promise you, every Autobot I kill, I will kill in your name.”


End file.
